“This is my heart. You are touching it with your left hand. You are touching it with your left hand, not because you are left-handed, although you might be, but because I am holding it against my heart. What you are feeling is the beating of my heart. It is what keeps me alive.”

“He spoke to her as if she could understand him, never in high pitch or in monosyllables, and never in nonsense words. This is milk that I am feeding you. It comes from Mordechai the milkman, whom you will meet one day. He gets the milk from a cow, which is a very strange and troubling thing if you think about it, so don't think about it . . . This is my hand that is petting your face. Some people are left-handed and some are right-handed. We don't know which you are yet, because you just sit there and let me do the handling . . . This is a kiss. It is what happens when lips are puckered and pressed against something, sometimes other lips, sometimes a cheek, sometimes something else. It depends . . . This is my heart. You are touching it with your left hand, not because you are left-handed, although you might be, but because I am holding it against my heart. What you are feeling is the beating of my heart. It is what keeps me alive.”

“Now I was left holding the pieces of my heart, crushed by my own hands.”

“Know that you hold my heart, my hopes, in your hands.”

“Wrap yourself in the sheets tightly. Feel that? Those are my arms around your waist, my head against yours and my heart beating in time with the thunder of your heart. I’m there baby. Maybe not in body but I am there with you constantly. You carry my heart on your sleeve Layla and it keeps me close to you. No matter where I am, however far apart we are, I carry you with me. You are never too far for my heart. We’re bound together.”

“For I will go before your face. I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my spirit shall be in your hearts and mine angels round about you, to bear you up. -D&C 84:88”

“MUSIC I heard with you was more than music, And bread I broke with you was more than bread. Now that I am without you, all is desolate, All that was once so beautiful is dead. Your hands once touched this table and this silver,And I have seen your fingers hold this glass. These things do not remember you, beloved: And yet your touch upon them will not pass. For it was in my heart you moved among them,And blessed them with your hands and with your eyes.And in my heart they will remember always: They knew you once, O beautiful and wise!”